


red ( is the colour of my blood )

by Lavender_Seaglass



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, mentions of Morgan - Freeform, nothing really graphic but kind of gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4165989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_Seaglass/pseuds/Lavender_Seaglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin isn't sure if all of her dreams are prophetic. They do all seem to have a point, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red ( is the colour of my blood )

**Author's Note:**

> One day I will write what I should. But first I need to get used to writing again. It has been too long.

She didn't know where she was. She didn't know who she was, but she knew what she had done, and she knew how she felt about it. Ecstatic—a flash of raw red ran right to the ends of her coiled fingers. When lifting her hand she could see one of them encircled by a ring engraved with a symbol that meant nothing to her. She continued to froth her joy, swinging her arms, lifting her legs, waving her blade, whirling around a corpse at her feet. 

And then the hunger in her grew. It distracted her from her victory. She looked up from the mess and away, away, away, she looked everywhere for her next victim. 

So the joy was gone and the lust had won because it surged and roared and couldn't ever be sated. She knew that before the voice echoed in her head— _you are my daughter, flesh of my flesh, wrought of my deeds to complete my deeds._ She was the culmination of his sins made carnal and real, and what her father wanted from her was not her, what he wanted was her body that wasn't her very own, it was only hers as long as she could keep him out of it. But now she had lost most her mind.

As she scented another victim and stalked forward she realised: there was flesh of her flesh. And he was vulnerable, without a sacred mark, without protection and someone to pray for him. She would have to keep her father away from her son and the grandchild he hopefully didn't know about. Morgan was another person whom she failed. Distantly, from somewhere, beyond the veil of the predator, was an impression of sadness. She wouldn't be able to protect him, he was only safe if—his blood, his blood, there was something that he needed in his blood. Not her blood. He wasn't safe with her. 

She reached out for her next victim, and the one she grabbed was Morgan. He struggled against her right from the beginning, he didn't call her mother or ask her why, why this, and she never saw his face.

…

Robin doesn't hear herself as she snaps up and tries to fling something from her hands. Breathing, she looks down to see that there's nothing there. Just her empty palms. Just her mark and the wedding ring. The gold catches some flicker from the low light in the fireplace; a sliver of reality, it reminds her to look around and assess before she makes her next move, but she finds that there is no need to search her surroundings.

Chrom is there. Hand on her shoulder, drawing her here. He's warm and engrossing, he asks after her into the top of her head, “Robin?” The way he says her name is exquisite as it sounds across the skull that contains the remnants of her dreams. She clutches at his chest as she clutches after the fragments that are quickly disintegrating in the internal winds of her stress, in the winds that are scouring her clean of any of her irrational worries. 

But she remembers, “Morgan, is Morgan okay? Where is he? The Risen, they—I—is he okay?”

“Morgan? I'm sure he is. If he wasn't, or if there Risen, we would know.” 

He then touches her face, gently, carefully lifting it with hands that could so easily crush it, and he traces under her eyes and along her cheeks with his thumbs. It's a familiar gesture, and she realises that she's crying. “Parents' intuition, right?”

“I...” She killed Morgan, in her dreams. Or at least she think she did. She can no longer remember anything but the sensation of grabbing him. There are no images lingering like those she has of murdering her husband—so, what, this is something that won't happen? She would hide her face in her hands but Chrom won't let her go. She has no room to retreat and think about it. “I just had a bad dream. Another one,” she adds before he can. “But it's nothing.”

“Can you sleep?”

“I'll try,” she says, and she leans into him as they settle down in the dark one more time. This time he wraps his arm around her. The warmth may end up being cloying, she's not sure how many hours remain before the sunrise, but the gesture makes her feel as though she's protected from all shadows. She pushes up against him and kisses him on his neck right on a fluttering pulse point. 

What Morgan needs, she realises, is the Exalted blood he has. He needs Chrom, he really does, because Chrom is the one who can protect them all. She just needs to make sure that she doesn't kill him.


End file.
